


A Cup Fit For A King

by turnedherbrain



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Canon Compliant, Day 3 Path II prompt, Gold or green, Merlin Memory Month, Quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 05:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13897776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/pseuds/turnedherbrain
Summary: Merlin's come on a quest that Prince Arthur is supposed to do alone. Solo. A solitary thing. Without assistance. Although as ever, Merlin proves to be more of a help than a hindrance.





	A Cup Fit For A King

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merlin Memory Month Day 3 Path II prompt: 'Gold or green'.

“Which way _now_?” cried Arthur in exasperation, as they reached a fork in the tunnels. They had been wandering, lost, in the caves at Bleddyn for what felt like interminable hours. He looked at Merlin as if expecting an answer. Seeing Arthur’s expression in the light cast by their single torch, Merlin could tell he was **not** in a good mood.

“Why don’t we toss a coin?” he replied, brightly.

“Helpful, Merlin, _very_ helpful,” Arthur shook his head. “Why don’t you just turn back now, hummm? I mean, you’ve only come on a quest that I’m supposed to do alone. Solo. A solitary thing. Without assistance. Do. You. Understand?” he tapped out the last three words with his gloved finger on Merlin’s forehead.

“Well, I just thought I’d come along… save your skin, as usual!” insisted Merlin, even more brightly, trying not to raise his eyebrows in utter exasperation as well.

Arthur just humphed and walked off down the left-hand passageway, his sword clanking. Merlin followed at a safe distance behind the rapidly moving torch.

Eventually, Merlin could see a faint light up ahead, and they soon stepped out into a grey-blue cavern, a crack in the ceiling above letting in a welcome shaft of dim sunlight. Water dripped steadily down the walls and green moss grew underfoot.

“It’s still daylight,” whispered Merlin.

“Yes. Great observation, Merlin,” rejoined Arthur. He pulled back his shoulders, tired from a day of sore tramping through these never-ending passages and caverns. Would they ever reach their destination?

Sighing, Arthur moved on again, not spotting the…

“Sire!” shouted Merlin, murmuring ' _ábíeteaþ, stánas!'_ and pushing Arthur roughly down against the side of the cavern wall, sheltering him from the tumbling rockfall, a consequence of a stalactite detaching itself from the uppermost parts of the cavern. Shards of hard stone and a cloud of dust gathered around them, with Merlin worst hit.

“We’d better watch where we tread,” gasped Arthur, his mouth an inch from Merlin’s nose. He heaved himself to standing again, pulling on Merlin’s shoulder to aid him. “Thanks, Merlin.”

Picking their way warily through the cascaded rubble, they moved onwards and inwards. Soon, they saw another light. But this light wasn’t the weak light of day; it was a heavenly beam that radiated from the cave up ahead. Merlin saw Arthur give him a brief nod: a sign to proceed with caution. He didn’t need Arthur to tell him that.

There was no sound suddenly – the faint drip of water on the rockface and the distant caw of a rook had ceased. Their footsteps were soundless. The silence around them was profound, disturbing. The light up ahead was majestic, incandescent.

And then they rounded the corner to the cave and saw her. She was perched on a rock, her head bent forwards; golden hair tumbling about her shoulders in a brilliant gleam. When she raised her head, her face was enchanting: more beautiful than a thousand nights of blessed dreams.

“Welcome,” she breathed, standing to greet them. Her gown was spun from gossamer. The sounds did not seem to come from her mouth, but from the echoes made in the cave. “You are Prince Arthur.”

Arthur bowed low in greeting, inclining his head in courteous praise.

“I have been waiting for a long time to meet you, Lord Em- ” she murmured.

“Merlin!” said Emrys, extra brightly. “Very pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand in an approximation of greeting, wishing that he’d bowed before her instead. Everything about this cave was enchanted. The fair maid, the ground below him, the very walls about them. He could feel it pulsing vibrantly, like the sound reverberating from a musical string.

“And I have been waiting a long time to meet you, my lady – ?” answered Arthur, rising again; completely unaware she had been addressing Merlin, not him.

“Nia,” replied the maiden. She continued sorrowfully: “Although I am no lady. I was born into a tribe of Celts. When our lord discovered I had the gift of magic, he mockingly clothed me in the garments of a high-born, and captured me as a slave, to be guardian of his treasure hoard for all eternity. What is it you seek?”

“A cup fit for a king,” said Arthur with surety, no longer distracted by her beauty but concentrating on the quest. Merlin tried to avoid Nia’s interested gaze. Her eyes were the pale, aqueous green of light on water. He was certain she could see into his very thoughts, and the torrent of magic constrained within her was perhaps more powerful than his.

“Please – make your choice,” sang Nia, gesturing with a flowing arm to the treasure hoard heaped in the cave. “But beware. If you choose wrongly…” Then she collapsed back down onto her rock, the lifeforce seemingly taken out of her.

“What will happen? What will happen if I choose wrongly?” asked Arthur urgently. Nia’s face was obscured by tendrils of her hair, but no breath blew upon them. He looked at Merlin, nonplussed. “Which one do I choose? There must be tens – a hundred even – of jewelled cups here!”

Arthur handed Merlin the torch and began to pick through the pile of treasure, uncovering one cup, after another, after another. Soon, he had ten cups lined up in front of him, all of them gleaming gold or silver, all of them weighty with jewels that shone enticingly in the torchlight. Arthur looked at all the cups, deep in thought, his hand under his chin. Merlin kept a watch on the lifeless Nia. He knew what would happen if Arthur made the wrong choice. Nia would return to life and direfully…

“This one,” proclaimed Arthur with certainty. He was pointing to a golden chalice that was decorated with finely wrought carvings and a single ruby. “Now THIS is a cup fit for a king!” and he moved to pick it up.

“No!” shouted Merlin, his voice echoing in a warning that rebounded again and again. “It’s definitely NOT that one.” He hastily moved to stand between Arthur and the cup.

“What on earth are you talking about Merlin!” replied Arthur jokily. “Let’s just take this one and go. They’re all fit for a king. That’s the riddle. All of them. So I can take any one.”

“No, sire,” advised Merlin gently. “ _This_ is a cup fit for a king.” From the treasure pile, he picked out a wooden cup with no adornments, no ornamentation, no dazzling jewels. The cup was dusty with age, and green moss covered its stem and flanked its sides, like nature was reclaiming what once grew from the earth.

Arthur looked once more at the gleaming golden chalice that he’d chosen. He looked at the green-hued wooden cup that Merlin was holding. And he sighed. “This is a lesson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“In being the right kind of king?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And not being swayed by tempting ornament, but to remember you rule for the people, on behalf of the people? And don’t say ‘Yes, my lord’, because I can see it in your eyes.”

Merlin merely nodded. A true king did not have to prove his worth with such ‘treasures’. Indeed, the Celtic lord’s worship of treasure was what caused Nia to be magically bound, imprisoned and enslaved, many years ago.

Arthur took the moss-green cup from Merlin’s outstretched grasp. “I have made my choice,” he announced. “A cup fit for a king.”

Nia appeared to fill with light. Her whole body rose up, and golden streaks of bright light shone out. She whispered as she ascended: “A wise choice. And a worthy king.” Then her form split into a multitude of shimmering rays, before she vanished and the cave was in darkness once again. She was freed from her bounds, finally.

……………

“Merlin?” enquired Arthur, once they’d made their weary way back to the mouth of the caves, and mounted their horses to return to Camelot.

“Arthur,” replied Merlin, knowing what was being asked of him, even before Arthur had said it.

“When people ask us about today…” said Arthur gratefully. “Can you, y’know, kind of downplay your role?”

“Of course!” replied Merlin. Modesty was his strong suit. He thought that perhaps history might write another story – one which recognised the role he’d played, in the making of the once and future king.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Merlin says ‘Break, stones!’ in Anglo-Saxon.  
> \- The name Nia means ‘radiance, brightness, beauty’ in Welsh.  
> ……………  
> Inspired by a re-watch of 'Merlin' 3.08, ‘The Eye of The Phoenix’.  
> The ‘choosing the cup’ sequence is like the (SPOILER ALERT) Holy Grail scene in ‘Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade’.


End file.
